


The Sin We Do (Moment's Silence)

by fluorineandsilver (myfavoritedemons)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fingerfucking, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, PWP without Porn, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myfavoritedemons/pseuds/fluorineandsilver
Summary: “I thought you hated me,” James says, leaning back in his chair. “You wouldn’t even look at me when we first met. You still won’t look me in the eye unless I force it.”





	The Sin We Do (Moment's Silence)

“I thought you hated me,” James says, leaning back in his chair. “You wouldn’t even look at me when we first met. You still won’t look me in the eye unless I force it.” It’s a week after the wreck of the carnivale, and a newly sober Francis has been making regular visits to see James in the evening. It’s ostensibly to go over plans for their trek, but James suspects neither of them wants to spend much time alone with their thoughts these days. As the evening has wound down, they’ve settled into an almost comfortable silence and a game of whist. And now James has gone and ruined it by bringing up what he’d sworn to himself he could ignore. Normally he’d bury his wounded pride under a glass or two of brandy, but it doesn’t seem fair to drink in front of Francis, and all of James’s questions about his superior’s conduct are jostling in his brain.

“I don’t hate you, Fitzjames.” Francis says, putting down his hand with a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“You’re still not looking at me,” James says. “I know I can be difficult, Francis, but Christ knows so can you. What have I done to earn your indifference?” He puts his cards down on the table, face up. The game is clearly over.

“It’s not a matter of indifference, it’s...I merely…” Francis runs a hand across his mouth. “Fitzjames…”

“Just James. Surely I’ve earned that, at least?” James says. He takes a drink of water and wishes it was anything else. It’s late, and at this hour the only sound is the creak of the ship against the ice and the howl of the wind. Francis stares out at the storm, then stands. He walks over to the bookcase and traces the leather spines of the volumes there. James waits.

“It’s only that you remind me so much of myself,” Francis says. It’s the last thing James expects. 

“Of you?” he asks, incredulous. “How?”

“Don’t you know?” Francis responds. He seems equally puzzled. James shakes his head. He cannot find common ground between himself and the other captain. He’s tried often enough, over dinners and meetings, to know this for certain. Francis shakes his head, sits himself back down. He reaches out and takes James by the wrist, gently. “James, you have no Adam’s apple.” James freezes. The cabin closes in around him. All his worst fears seem ready to pounce. Then, finally, Francis looks him in square in the eyes. “Neither do I.”

James feels dizzy. He’s spent so much time, too much time, watching Francis Crozier from afar. Can this really have escaped his notice? That he’s not alone? He looks again. He takes in wide hips, a high collar that obscures Francis’s neck, a meticulously close shave. If he were to undress Francis, would he find the same set of scars that he sports across his chest?

“You.” It comes out as little more than a whisper. “Oh, you…”

“I thought you knew, James,” Francis says. “I was wrong. I’m sorry for it, to have denied you knowledge of our fellowship.” He rubs his thumb across James’s pulse point. “It was cruel of me, but unintended, I swear. The way you watch me, I was so afraid that you’d reveal us both.” He leans close and places a kiss on James’s temple. “What fools we’ve been.”

“You’ve seen me, watching you?” James breathes. Francis is still so close, he can smell the man’s soap. He chuckles.

“James, the whole crew has seen you watching me,” Francis says. “Your only saving grace has been that most of the time when you watch me, you scowl.”

“I don’t scowl!” James says.

“You do,” Francis insists. He moves in for a second kiss, this time at the corner of James’s mouth. “It’ll give you wrinkles.” James turns and catches his mouth before he can pull away. In his fantasies, Francis has always tasted of whiskey, has always been rough and too drunk to notice an absence of hardness in James’s pants. Here and now, Francis tastes of nothing but himself. When they finally stop to breathe, James runs a hand through Francis’s hair, mussing it. It’s softer than he expected. Francis’s pupils are blown, his face flushed.

“More wrinkles, you mean,” James says. “And most of them are from worrying over you.”

“You give me too much credit, sir,” Francis says. He stands, and helps James up, and then he leans forward to kiss James at his throat, at the very edge of where his cravat meets his smooth, unshaven neck. “Stay, James. You’ve worried over me for too long. Let me make it up to you.”  James groans. He settles his hands above Francis’s hips, enjoying the solidity of another body against his own for the first time in too long.

“Yes, God, Francis,” he tilts his head back and lets Francis undo his cravat, pressing kiss after kiss to his skin as more of it is revealed. Then his vest goes, then his sweater. It’s too long before he’s down to his shirt and trousers. Francis is still fully dressed. There’s so many damnable layers between the two of them. 

“Sit,” Francis guides James to the bench running along the window of the cabin. “Lean back.” He kneels between James’s legs and starts to undo the buttons on James’s trousers. The sight of Francis Crozier between his legs goes straight to his groin. He fumbles, trying to help him along. 

Finally, finally, James is bare below the waist. Francis mouths at the soft skin of his inner thigh. James whines, gripping at his shoulder for purchase as his legs tense and relax. 

“Please,” he begs. “Please, please, please Francis God, I need you I need it please-” He’s babbling, he knows it, but he can’t stop. Francis’s mouth is slowly, agonizingly inching his way closer to James’s cunt. He looks up at James, and smirks. “God damn you, Francis.”

When Francis does put his mouth on him, James has to bite his hand to stop from shouting. His hips buck forward of their own accord. He’s never had this particular pleasure before. Nearly all his coupling has taken place standing, stomach pressed against a wall, a drunk man rutting between his thighs. Francis’s mouth is doing something indescribably sinful, circling James’s clit with his tongue, teasing. He pulls away.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks. James nods, breathless. Francis slips a finger inside him, and then a second. James clenches around him.

“Hhnn,” he’s beyond begging, past words at this point. Francis crooks his fingers and James pushes against them, fucking himself on Francis’s hand.

“I always thought you needed a good reaming,” Francis whispers. “You like that?” James bites down again on his hand and grips Francis harder with the other. He’s going to die or maybe come apart at the seams. He nods again. He can’t last long, when all his months and years of fantasizing have come true and yet somehow fallen short of the mark in imagining the pleasure of their coupling. When he comes, he draws blood from the back of the hand in his mouth. Francis stands, offers him a hand, and walks a boneless James over to his cabin, where they slump side by side on the bunk.

“So,” James asks, after they sit there for a minute. “You don’t hate me, then?” Francis laughs. 

“No, I don’t.” He takes James’s injured hand in his own and kisses it. His face turns serious. “Looking at you is like looking at the sun, James. I never thought I’d find anyone like you. Like me. And when I finally did, I wasn’t in a state that anyone would desire.”

“Francis, you idiot. Look at me.” Francis turns his head. James shoves his shoulder against him. “I’ve wanted you since the first time we met. You’re...a remarkable man.” Francis looks away, flustered. James shifts so he’s facing him, takes his face in both hands and brings Francis nose to nose with himself. “Shall we go again?” Francis nods, suddenly awfully shy for a man who’s just had his fingers inside James. He splays his hand across Francis’s chest and pushes him backwards until his head hits the pillow. “Good. My turn.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to ias, singersargent, and priestly, who looked this over for feedback, spelling mistakes, etc on very short notice! y'all are champs.


End file.
